by Lucy Leroux
The Hex
A Spellbound Regency Short Story
Lucy Leroux
Contents
The Hex
Titles by Lucy Leroux
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Afterword
Cursed
Black Widow
About the Author
Other Books by Lucy Leroux
Making Her His
Confiscating Charlie
Calen’s Captive
Stolen Angel
The Roman’s Woman
Save Me
Take Me
Trick’s Trap
Writing as L.B. Gilbert
Fire
Air
Kin Selection
The Hex
A Spellbound Regency Short
PUBLISHED BY: Lucy Leroux
Copyright © 2016, Lucy Leroux
http://www.authorlucyleroux.com
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First Edition.
All rights reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Titles by Lucy Leroux
Making Her His, A Singular Obsession, Book One
Available Now
Confiscating Charlie, A Singular Obsession Novelette
Book 1.5
Available Now
Calen’s Captive, A Singular Obsession, Book Two
Available Now
Stolen Angel, A Singular Obsession, Book Three
Available Now
The Roman’s Woman, A Singular Obsession,
Book Four
Available Now
Save Me, A Singular Obsession Novella, Book 4.5
Coming Soon
Take Me, A Singular Obsession Prequel Novella
Available Now
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Cursed, A Spellbound Regency Novel
Available Now
Black Widow, A Spellbound Regency Novel, Book Two
Coming Sept 18th, 2017
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Writing As L.B. Gilbert
Fire: The Elementals Book One
Available Now
Air: The Elementals Book Two
Available November 28th
Water: The Elementals Book Three
Coming Soon
* * *
Kin Selection
Available as part of the Myths and Magic Box Set
Introduction
Excerpt from "Cursed: A Spellbound Regency Novel" by Lucy Leroux:
“How did your aunt die?”
Isobel wrapped her arms around herself. “I'm not sure, but I know she used her magic to hurt someone. The man she was supposed to marry. He'd decided to marry someone else because they had a larger dowry, and she was heartbroken...and then angry. She decided to take revenge.”
Chapter 1
Moira ran headlong over the barren cliffs, the weight of her skirts slowing her down. The distant sound of dogs barking behind her sent a bolt of fear shooting up her spine. She could barely breathe, but she had to keep going or she was going to die.
You're already dead.
She had sealed her own fate through her rage. Her former fiancé, Duncan, might never walk again, and he had lost the use of his right eye forever.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. Right now she and Duncan were supposed to be on their honeymoon in the English countryside. Instead, he was maimed and she was being pursued by his father, Boyd Fraser, and his men.
Don't forget the dogs.
She lifted up her skirts, and then mentally tried to reach inside herself, tapping reserves she didn't know she had. Putting one foot in front of the other, she forced herself on, stumbling occasionally over a rock or hole.
She should have never agreed to marry Duncan. He'd come to her village with a group of men doing business with the village elders. She had been infatuated with him from the start and was flattered when he seemed equally taken with her. He had come back to see her several times over the course of the next few months. She'd been foolish enough to believe he loved her when really all he'd wanted was her small dowry.
Her mother, Helen, had never approved of Duncan. Moira should have listened to her, but she'd been blind to the warning signs, intent only on her romance. He proposed a few months after meeting, and she wouldn’t hear a word against him. Despite her mother’s protests, she had left Carrbridge to marry a near stranger. She had never spoken to her mother again.
Moira had followed Duncan to this home village of Stonehaven, believing their marriage was only days away. Then in a blink of an eye it had all been over. Duncan had come to her and broken their engagement, explaining that he’d found another girl with a bigger dowry and that he never wanted to see her again.
She had been devastated by Duncan’s defection, but might have been able to forgive him for breaking the engagement if it hadn’t been for what followed.
The day after Duncan had come to see her she was asked to leave the room she had let at the local boarding house. The landlord had told her that they didn't want her kind of woman there. When she asked what kind of woman she was supposed to be, they told her soiled goods had no right to mix with decent people.
Moira had died inside when she heard that. It wasn't enough that Duncan had forsaken her; he'd had to destroy her reputation too.
Her love had turned to hate and she'd struck out, determined to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. Her magic had always been used to heal, to concoct salves and potions that helped the weak and the sick. But betrayal had made it a weapon.
The hex she'd mixed up was meant to inflict pain—the same pain Duncan had dealt her times three. She'd wanted him to suffer, to give him a memory of fear and anguish that he would carry for the rest of his life. But he wasn't supposed to be permanently harmed.
She had underestimated her own rage. The emotion she'd channeled into her spell had overwhelmed it. When Duncan was struck down, his body hadn't been able to contain the force of her anger. His leg had broken in two places with the violent contortions, and he'd managed to claw at one eye—partially blinding himself—before members of his family had tied him down. They dosed him with enough laudanum to make him insensible, but not before he'd whispered in his father's ear, giving Boyd Fraser her name because she'd been fool enough to tell her fiancé what she was.
When everything had gone wrong, Moira had fled to a cheap inn. Boyd’s men had come for her early that morning. If she had been asleep in her bed, it would already be too late. However, the unfamiliar noises of the coaching inn had woken her well before dawn. She'd heard them coming and had jumped out of the narrow ground floor window, hurtling past the morning bustle in the courtyard and toward the cliffs near Stonehaven.
The landscape was different from Carrbridge. Here on the coast the plants were sparse and scraggly from too much salt air. There were no trees to hide behind. Her only hope was to stay ahead of the dogs. If she could only stop, she might remember a spell to divert the animals and help her hide. But there was no time.
Even if she had a chance to escape, she didn’t deserve it. Moira had broken the most important rule her mother had taught her about her gift—to do no harm. Their magic was meant to heal, to help the sick and ease the torment of those poor unfortunates beyond their skill. Moira had forgotten that in her pain. Maybe she did deserve to die because of it.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop and surrender herself to Boyd. It had only taken one
meeting to know that he was a man without a mercy. She shuddered to think what he would do to her if he caught her.
Her only option was to escape in a manner of her own choosing. The rocky cliffs were high above the shore. With luck, she would die instantly. Especially if her head struck one of the many rocks littering the water's edge. It would be a kinder death than letting Boyd get his hands on her.
Don't think about it. Whatever you do, don't think. Keep moving.
Tears ran down her face when she thought of never seeing her family again. Not her mother or sister. And she wouldn't be there to watch her niece, a brilliant little girl with hair the same color as her own, grow into womanhood. Her life was over, all her dreams shattered by her own hand.
Ahead of her, the uneven ground ended abruptly. Beyond it there was nothing but sky. The cliffs. Slowing down, she leaned on a tall boulder a few feet from the edge. Her limbs were shaking, the muscles in her legs twitching and leaping independently as she struggled to stay on her feet.
She was bent nearly double when she rounded the tall rock—which was why she didn't see the man waiting on the other side.
When his arms came up around her, trapping her against his chest, she couldn't scream. That required air in her lungs. Instead, her legs gave way and she slumped over in defeat.
I've failed.
How was she going to die? Would they hang her? Burn her at the stake?
"Moira, look at me."
The voice was familiar, although the accent was jarring. She cracked open an eyelid and met the pale blue eyes of Nigel Smythe, Duncan's English cousin. He was a poor relation of the Fraser family, up for a visit before he moved away from his home in the north of England, although she couldn’t remember the reason for the move. Moira had only met him once, shortly after arriving in Stonehaven with Duncan.
Nigel was a minister in his country. He was supposed to officiate their wedding. No doubt he would be asked to preside over the new one if Duncan's new fiancée was still willing to have him.
"Let me go," she pleaded, deciding to throw herself on his mercy. "I'm going over the cliffs. I will never hurt anyone again, I promise. Just let me go."
Nigel's pale handsome face contorted in a sympathetic wince. "I can't do that. You see, I'm here to save you."
Chapter 2
The inside of the hired carriage was very dark. She sat in the corner of the bench, trying to ignore the jostling movement while she studied Nigel sitting across from her.
"I did it."
Perhaps she shouldn't have admitted that, but he didn't look surprised.
"I know," he said quietly.
"Then why are you helping me?" she asked, despite being afraid to hear the answer.
Nigel looked away, his attention fixed on the small sliver of rolling green that was visible between the gap in the curtains. He had a handsome face now that she was looking at him. But there hadn't been much of a reason to before. Not when Duncan had been in the room.
Nigel was slighter than his cousin, his features just as defined and attractive, but in a setting so pale as to look ghostly. His ice blue eyes were nearly colorless in the weak light, and his pale blond hair did little to call attention to the fineness of his visage. His coloring combined with his quiet manner ensured he would blend in at gatherings.
When he didn't answer, she repeated her question.
"I'm not sure," he said finally.
"For what it's worth, it wasn't supposed to be that severe. I just wanted to hurt him as badly as he hurt me." She paused. "Don't you want to punish me? Burn me alive? You're a man of the cloth. It's what you're supposed to do."
"I...I believe that God put people like you on this earth for a reason. And it's not to be an evil we must fight."
That sounded like he'd had experiences with others of her kind. "Have you met anyone with magic before?"
He nodded. "There was an old man who lived outside my village. We...used to throw stones at his house. When I grew into manhood that troubled me. It still does. He was harmless."
"I'm not," she whispered.
His eyes narrowed. "No, you're not. But you won't hurt anyone again, will you?"
"No," she admitted.
Her guilt was flaying her alive, and he could probably see it. She couldn't live with herself if she harmed someone again.
"They won't stop looking for me," she warned him.
"Uncle thinks you’re dead."
Her eyes widened.
"When you changed into the clothing I brought you, I tore your old dress and took pieces of it down to the bottom of the cliff. Part of it will be caught in the rocks along with some blood. A larger part will be found in the water, if at all."
Her mouth fell open. "Whose blood is it?"
"A pigeon."
"Oh."
"I didn't kill it," he said with an ironic twist to his lips. "I bought it from the butcher, fresh this morning. He thought I was making a pie."
He had spent a considerable amount of time on the details.
"You thought of everything."
He frowned and shrugged. "I had all night to plan after Uncle Boyd gathered his friends. He expected me to come with him this morning, but I told him my patron had recalled me."
"Your patron?"
“The Viscount Anders. He has given me a living in my hometown, near the border, but I am going to ask him for on farther away, on his southernmost property."
"Why?"
He stared at her for a long moment. "Because, although my Scottish relations would have little reason to visit me in Northumberland, they will definitely not be visiting as far south as Eastbourne...so they would have little reason to meet my wife."
"Your wife?"
Color crept up into his pale cheeks. "It's one idea. If you would prefer to strike out on your own, I can help you disappear. You can travel with me as far as London, and I can give you a little money to help you on your way."
"I thought you didn't have any," she said quietly, staring at him in wonderment.
Why would he offer marriage after what she had done?
His fingers drummed on the seat next to him. “I’m not wealthy. Not compared to my cousin," he admitted. "My father was a fourth son, but I have a little saved. I realize that your prospects were considerably higher before Duncan came into your life. I couldn't offer you riches, but you would have a home and eventually a family."
Feeling slightly dizzy, she sat up straighter. "Don't you believe I'm going to burn in the fires of Hell for witchcraft?"
"Duncan will live,” he said, in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sure if he was happy about it. “His leg was set yesterday. He may be lame and will most likely require the use of a cane, but he will live. You didn't kill anyone. Even his eye may recover. Only time will tell."
More relieved than she could say, she nodded and then slumped slightly in her seat. Her throat was thick, and her eyes stung. "That still doesn't explain why you would sacrifice yourself to marry me. You're a man of the cloth, and I'm a witch. Don't you believe I'm damned?"
He coughed slightly and turned very red. "I don't believe God would create something so beautiful and make it evil."
Her stomach gave a funny little flutter. "You think I'm beautiful?" she asked slowly.
His smile was a touch too wry for a minister. "My cousin would hardly propose to a homely woman. Although his new fiancée is only passable, in my opinion, but I suppose her considerable fortune enhances her charms."
Moira’s brows drew down. "You're not like any priest I've ever met before."
"I'm a minister, not a priest. Although, if I'd had the funds, I would have been a gentleman farmer instead." He paused. "Also, I believe Duncan behaved very dishonorably. Even if he'd come to the realization that he no longer wished to continue the engagement, he never should have admitted that he had...that you...had..."
Shame flooded through her. He knew. Of course, everyone did. She was a fool to believe otherwise.
"And
you still want to marry me?"
A would-be husband had the right to expect a virgin on his wedding night. That a man of the cloth would willingly marry a woman who had lost her honor—it was unthinkable.
"Yes," he said simply, his pale eyes gleaming with a silver edge.
Something about that look made her very warm inside. Sure that her blushing face matched her hair, she looked away. Dropping her eyes down to her lap, she admitted something she hadn't wanted to acknowledge, even to herself.
"I didn't want to," she whispered so quietly her voice was barely audible over the sound of the horses’ hoofbeats.
Duncan hadn't forced himself on her, but he also hadn't given her much of a choice. He'd said it didn't matter because they were going to be married soon anyway, and then wouldn't let her leave the room at the inn unless she submitted to him. Rationalizing that he was right, she would soon be his wife, she had allowed herself to be pressured into acting against her own judgment. It hadn't been a pleasant experience, and remembering it now made her angry all over again.
When she finally looked at Nigel, he was watching her sorrowfully. "I figured it was something like that. I am very sorry. But there are things that I know about my cousin that you do not. You see there was this other young lady, very poor and pretty. I...I think he got what he deserved."
So many things suddenly made sense. Had Nigel loved this girl? Why else had he been willing to save her, crossing his own family? Reading the stiffness in his expression, the firm set of his lips, she knew her guess was true. He had loved another girl. And he had lost her.
